Valaquez Bride (15 page)

"Most certainly not," Margaret snorted. "You know I never
ever watch the telly."

"Pity," Devery retorted. "You might have learned something
about realistic painting."

"Well, really, Dev, you sound as if you think I'm totally
ignorant. I happen to know quite a lot about realistic painting,
certainly enough to know it's highly overrated. And this fuss made over
this Diego boy is a perfect example. I say he lacks imagination. His
paintings look like photographs. Who cares about olives in a basket?
Maybe the public thinks that's art but I don't think Diego is the
genius everyone makes him out to be. His forms are too sharp, too
definite, lacking in warmth,"

"What rot," Devery responded succinctly. "He's a master of
light and texture. One can almost believe he could pluck the smooth
firm olives from the rough woven basket. And the way he uses light and
shadow to add more realism is exquisite. And I'm not alone in thinking
he might well be our modern-day Rembrandt."

"Too harsh," Margaret persisted heatedly, waving her gaunt
hands excitedly. "Why should anyone buy a painting so detailed that it
looks like a photograph? One would save a great deal of money by buying
an instant camera."

Devery laughed heartily. "This all sounds a bit like envy.
Are you sure you believe Diego is untalented or are you actually
perturbed at yourself because you haven't the willpower and patience to
do more than dapple in pastels and create blurred images? Hmm,
Margaret? Why don't you admit you might have been a much more
successful artist if you weren't too lazy to add detail to your work?"

"I'll admit no such thing!" she cried defensively, jerking
her head so violently that her topknot of hair bobbed. "I create moods;
I'm an impressionist! And do please stop calling me Margaret when you
know damned well I prefer to be called Mag or Maggie."

"Ah yes, Mag," Devery quipped. "That's more in keeping
with the Bohemian image you like to project, is it not?"

As answer, Mag merely sniffed at him, spun on one heel and
marched away, her copper necklace swinging back and forth across her
flat chest.

Juliet yawned, noticing that as Devery walked away he was
smiling with almost perverse satisfaction. Then as she quickly stifled
the yawn that threatened to follow the first, she was joined on the
sofa by a young man in his late twenties. Smiling, he handed her a
glass filled with iced amber liquid, which she accepted with murmured
thanks.

"Ah, you're American. So am I," the man said giving her
another genuinely friendly smile. "The name's David Judson; maybe
you've heard it. I've been watching you sitting here all alone and
thought it was high time you had some company. Do you mind?"

Juliet didn't mind at all. There seemed to be something
different about this man, perhaps a real quality in his personality
that she found refreshing. During the next ten minutes as they talked,
he mercifully never once played the pseudo intellectual and only after
they had discussed their impressions of Spain, did he bring up art.

"I'm a portrait painter," he said modestly, allowing his
gaze to wander over her for the first time. "And I know this might
sound like a come-on but I think you'd be a terrific model. That russet
hair and creamy complexion and those luminous eyes…" He
paused, then grinned charmingly. "What do you say? Would you be willing
to let me paint you?"

Juliet hesitated, her mind occupied with the name David
Judson, which rang a bell in her memory. Then she realized she had
heard of him and that he was one of the most respected portrait
painters in the States. So she supposed she should consider it quite an
honor that he had asked her to be the subject for one of his works.
"You really think I'd do?" she questioned rather shyly. "I mean, I'm
certainly no raving beauty."

"There's a quality about you," Judson assured her
earnestly. "And if I could capture that quality on canvas, I'd have a
masterpiece, I'm sure of it. So, how about it? Will you come to my
studio and let me paint you? Please."

Juliet gestured uncertainly. "Well, I don't know.
I…"

"Sorry, Judson, Juliet hasn't the time to be one of your
models," Raul interrupted curtly from behind them. As she jerked around
to look up at him, his green eyes burned into her. Then he came around,
took her drink from her hand, and unceremoniously drew her up to stand
before him. "Time to go, Juliet."

She had no chance to utter a word as she was hauled away
but she did manage to cast an apologetic glance back over her shoulder
to David who simply shrugged resignedly in response. And before she
could protest Raul's impolite behavior, they were waylaid by Jimena
Ruiz, who was dazzling in a white satin lounging suit.

"Are you leaving so early, Raul?" she asked querulously.
Then she glared at Juliet as if she was certain their precipitous
departure must be the younger girl's fault. She stepped around in front
of Raul, her slender hands sliding down his arms. "Do not go just yet,
por
favor, querido
. I have hardly talked to you at all. You have
spent almost all evening with Diego and of course Janine has
monopolized the remainder of your time so…"

"We must go," Raul interrupted firmly, still holding
Juliet's hand in a viselike grip. "
Buenas noches
,
Jimena. I'll probably see you tomorrow."

Though the older woman scowled and called after him in
staccato Spanish, he went on, his pace so brisk that Juliet practically
had to trot to keep up with him. By the time he impelled her onto the
elevator and they began the rapid descent, she was getting riled. What
right did he have to treat her so rudely when she had sat on that sofa
for nearly two hours, waiting patiently for him to conduct his
business? He actually acted angry at her now, though she couldn't
imagine why. Half afraid to ask, she said nothing until the Mercedes
was brought around to the entrance and they had gotten inside. Yet, in
the confines of the car, the silence between them became unbearable.

Finally, she could stand the tension no longer and blurted
out, "Well, what's wrong? Did Luis Diego give you a difficult time?"

Raul gave her a withering look. "On the contrary, he
agreed to place his work in our galleries."

"Then what's the matter?" Juliet exclaimed confusedly.
"You almost act mad at me and I certainly haven't done anything.
Or—have I?"

"We won't discuss this now, Juliet," he decreed. "We'll
talk at the
casa
."

"But…"

"At the casa," he nearly growled, his voice so low and
menacing that she automatically kept silent.

For the remainder of the ride home, Juliet cast furtive
glances at Raul's strong profile, wondering with some trepidation what
in the world was going on. By the time he parked the Mercedes before
Casa Valaquez and herded her through the moonlit courtyard and into the
main hall, she was feeling rather queasy with apprehension. There was a
tension about him that hinted at a barely leashed fury and appalled her
though she knew he wasn't justified in taking out his ill humor on her.
Their footsteps clattered on the tiled floor until he stopped her at
the foot of the staircase and both his hands descended heavily on her
shoulders. His eyes glittered like green ice shards, impaling hers as
his grip tightened.

"You will not go to David Judson's studio," he muttered at
last. "Is that understood?"

"Well, no, not really," she replied, striving to sound
cool and composed despite the jerky beating of her heart. "Why
shouldn't I go? And why should you try to tell me I can't? If I want to
pose for David, that's my business. Not yours!"

Raul's expression darkened grimly. "But don't you think
it's Will's business too? He certainly wouldn't be pleased."

"Whyever not? I think he'd be very excited if David
painted me."

"Are you out of your mind?" Raul exploded, his fingers
pressing into the delicate hollows of her shoulders. "Will would be
horrified.
Madre de Dios
! I paint as a hobby so
let me do your portrait. I certainly won't display it conspicuously so
you'd be wiser to let me paint you if you're so eager to pose nude."

"
Nude
!" Juliet squeaked, her face
paling them flaring scarlet. "
Nude
! You mean
like—
naked
?"

Raul sighed wearily. "You mean you didn't know that's what
Judson had in mind?"

"I still don't know that," she retorted, managing to
control her jangled nerves. "I don't believe you. I've heard of David
Judson and he does
not
paint nudes."

With a muffled curse, Raul raised his eyes heavenward. "
Poco
idiota
, little fool," he translated unnecessarily. "David
Hudson
,
not Judson, is the renowned portrait painter."

"What?" Juliet gasped. "You mean…"

"I mean Judson is a notorious womanizer. He calls himself
an artist but he's far more interested in getting involved with his
models than in painting them."

Juliet could have died of humiliation right there on the
spot. Feeling like a perfect imbecile for allowing herself to be
conned, she bent her head, her silken hair falling forward to conceal
her burning cheeks. And when Raul reached out to cup her chin in one
tan hand, she flinched and tried to move away from him.

He wouldn't allow her to escape. One muscular arm
encircled her waist as he tilted up her chin, forcing her to face him.
His expression softened, conveying a certain tenderness. "You're not so
worldly-wise after all, are you, despite…" He shook his
head, his narrowing gaze searching her face as his hand dropped from
her chin and his fingertips feathered along the rounded neckline of her
dress. As she trembled, her eyes widening, he drew her slightly nearer.
"You are a puzzle, Juliet," he whispered huskily. "Sometimes you manage
to appear so naive, so innocent, so very vulnerable."

Juliet drew in a sharp breath, her nerves on fire from his
evocative touch. "Raul, I—I…"

He released her abruptly, thrusting his hands into his
trouser pockets. "Go to bed, Juliet," he commanded. "I'll see you in
the morning."

Foolishly she hesitated. "But I…"

"Damn it, go!" he repeated hoarsely, his eyes blazing as
he took one menacing step toward her. "Go now before I decide to
discover exactly how vulnerable you are."

Faced with that threat, Juliet went, in a hurry. She sped up
the stairs, her heart hammering in her breast
because she knew only too well that where Raul was concerned, she was
vulnerable indeed and probably lacking in the strength it would take to
deny him anything he might ask of her.

As Holly sighed heavily and stared out the window, Juliet
leaned forward in her chair, toward the bed. "Is there anything I can
bring you that would make the time pass faster? Do you want some more
books? How about some romantic novels? You like romances, don't you?"

"Romance is what got me into this situation," Holly
replied glibly, patting her burgeoning abdomen. "But yes, bring me some
and anything else that might keep me occupied. I'm about to go nuts in
this place."

Juliet stroked her cheek thoughtfully with one forefinger.
"How about some soft yarn. You could crochet the baby some booties and
sweaters."

"I've crocheted enough booties and sweaters already to
outfit every baby born in Spain this year."

"Oh. Well, have you made a blanket yet? You could really
make something pretty. And after you finish that, I'll bring you some
embroidery paraphernalia. You're artistic. You could create your own
designs and make some very lovely pictures."

"Whatever," Holly said with a rather impatient dismissive
gesture. "Now enough about what I
could
do to
occupy my time. I'm tired of thinking about it. I'd much rather hear
what you're doing. What's it like to live the easy life on the grand
Valaquez estate?"

"Boring sometimes," Juliet answered candidly. "I'm like
you, I guess, accustomed to keeping busy, but I really don't have much
to do with looking after Uncle Will. He has this hulk of a nurse, who
rarely ever smiles and who acts like she owns him. I guess she's acting
in his best interest when she's always whisking him away for naps but
he's getting tired of her bossiness, which means he's feeling much
better. So maybe she won't be there much longer and Rosita and I will
have more to do."

Idly pleating the edge of her crisp white sheet, Holly
smiled wryly. "I'm surprised you don't have enough to do at the
casa
.
I thought you'd be spending all your time trying to stay out of Pablo's
clutches. Or isn't he still chasing after you?"

"Occasionally he sneaks up on me but, luckily, Raul keeps
him pretty busy out in the olive groves. I think he's supposed to be
learning all about olive growing from the foreman."

"And Raul? Do you see much of him? How's he treating you
these days?"

Moving restlessly in her chair, Juliet sighed. "I really
can't answer that," she said, a note of bewilderment in her voice.
"Sometimes he's nice to me; sometimes he isn't. I can't figure him out."

"And how do you feel about him?" Holly persisted gently.
"I know you were much more interested in him than in Pablo last year,
romantically interested, I mean. So, are you still attracted to him?"

Juliet laughed humorlessly. "If you'd ever seen Raul, you
wouldn't have to ask me that. I don't imagine there are many females
who aren't attracted to him."

"But I've always had the feeling you felt more for him
than just a casual attraction. I still have that feeling. Am I right or
wrong?"

"Oh, damn, I don't know," Juliet murmured, meticulously
arranging the folds of her gauze skirt. "Sometimes, when he's ordering
me around, I feel like hitting him. But—then, all he has to
do is touch me and all my irritation seems to dissolve and I want to
throw myself in his arms. Nobody else has ever made me feel that way
before and it's very confusing."